The Dunthorpes of Westleigh

Front matter

BY CHRISTIAN LTS, AUTHOB OF " THB DOCTOR'S IDOL,' "SUSPICION," "MARKET SEFTON," ETC. ETC. |D<mDott : DOWNEY AND CO., Ltd., YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, AV.C. 1896. \Ml rights reserved.'] F M. EVANS AND CO., LIMITED, PItINTEEK, CBYSTAL PALACE, S.E. 2To &\)t Yitavaqt JFolfe CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. — THE DUNTHORPE TOMBSTONE 1 II. — THE VICAR AND HIS SISTER 10 III. — THE FETE 15 IV. — MINTA 24 V.— MR. TYRRELL'S FISHING 32 VI. — MR. DAVIDSON'S IDEAL 41 VII. — GREGORY FLEXON FINDS SYMPATHY .... 47 VIII. — MINTA FINDS THAT A LECTURE IS NECESSARY . . 54 IX. — A WET NIGHT IN TOWN 63 X. — THE REVEREND ARCHIBALD WYATT .... CO XI. — MRS. JINKS'S SHOP IN SURREY LANE .... CONTENTS. VIII PAGE CHAP. XII. — THE TENANTS OF NUMBER TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY 82 FIVE XIII.— AT THE " KING'S CROWN " IN CLERKENWELL . • 87 XIV. — KENNETH'S FORTUNE 95 XV. — "SIX MONTHS!

WHY SO LONG?" .... 102 XVI. — CICELY IS INQUISITIVE 109 XVII. — GREGORY FLEXON CONFIDES IN MINTA . . .114 XVIII. — ARTHUR ENDEAVOURS TO GET INFORMATION . .119 xix.— mr. Davidson's ideal vanishes .... 125 XX. — MR. WYATT MAKES A REVELATION .... 130 XXI.— MR. FLEXON FINDS OUT HOW THE OPERA SHOULD END 137 XXII. — MINTA IS TROUBLED 144 XXIII. — MRS. JINKS'S SECRET 151 XXIV. — RICHARD JOHNSON IS TEMPTED 157 XXV.— MR. FUGE AND JONATHAN GET INTO DISGRACE . . 163 XXVI. — AT THE END OF SIX MONTHS . . . 170 XXVII.— THE SQUIRE IS LATE FOR BREAKFAST. . . . CONTENTS. IX CHAP. PAQ]! XXVIII.— SIMON MEDDLETHWAITE DOES NOT KNOW EVERYTHING 182 XXIX. — THE INQUEST . . . 188 XXX. — WAITING AT THE GATE 198 XXXI. — MR. DAVIDSON GIVES A SUPPER PARTY . . . 202 XXXII. — MISS NEVILLE DETERMINES NOT TO DECEIVE GREGORY FLEXON . 208 XXXIIL— MR. DAVIDSON STARTS AS A DETECTIVE . . . 218 XXXIV. — MR. JINKS'S SHOP BECOMES A HARBOUR OF REFUGE 225 XXXV. — "DID YOU SAY WESTLEIGH?" 231 XXXVI. — MR. WYATT CALLS UPON MRS. JOHNSON . . . 238 XXXVII. — "I WANT HELEN" . 245 XXXVIII. — MR. WYATT BECOMES A CHANGED MAN . . . 248 XXXIX. — RICHARD COMES HOME 254 XL. — A PENITENT'S DEATH 261 XLI. — KENNETH LEARNS THE TRUTH 270 XLII. — OLD SIMON REMEMBERS 277 XLIII. — JAMES TYRRELL MAKES HIS EXIT .... 283 A* CONTENTS.

X PAGB CHiP- 988 XLIV.— THE RIGHTFUL HEIR TO THE COURT . ■io° XLV. — JESSIE BETRAYS A SECRET 296 XLVI. — ARTHUR SPEAKS. ....... 304 XLVII. — THE MAN NAMED FLEXON 309 XLVIII. — THE WHITE FACE IN THE MILL POOL. . . . 314 XLIX. — MRS. NEVILLE VISITS HER DAUGHTER . . . 318 L.— THE HOME-COMING - . . THE DUNTHORPES OF WESTLEIGH

Chapter I. Toe Dunthorpe Tombstone

In the little private bar of the " Green Man and Cow," a man sat smoking a cigar, and drinking from tima to time out of a tankard which stood on the table before him. His hat. was tilted over his eyes, his hands were in his pockets, and his legs were stretched out to their full length in front of him. He held the half-finished cigar tightly between his teeth, and appeared to be indulging in some abstruse mental calculation, for at intervals he puffed out a volume of smoke as if to emphasize some conclusion he had coma to. He was fairly well dressed, but there was certainly nothing attractive about him ; and when presently he put his hat straight upon his head, and allowed his face to be seen, th?re was something decidedly unpleasant in its expression. His eyes were singularly sharp and cruel, placed very close to gether, his nose was thin and large, and his mouth was sensual and shifty.

The landlord, however, who was vigorously drying glasses behind the bar, seemed to find him interesting, for he watched him out of the corners of his eyes. He had endeavoured several times in the last hour to draw him into conversation, but in vain ; beyond a " Yes " or a " No " he could get nothing out of his customer. At last he made another attempt. " I believe it's stopped raining. ' The man glanced up at the windows. B 1HE DUNTHORPES OF WESTLEIGH 2 "Yes." " Have you come down to fish, sir ? " The man looked at the inquirer for a moment without replying, and then with a very grim smile answered, " Yes." " Ay, the fishing ain't what it was. I've known the time when every room in the house has been full. Why, awhile ago we had quite a name for our stream. Gents used to come from all parts ; and now, if we gets half a dozen down in the year we think we've done well."

The customer did not speak. "You've been down before, sir. I seem to know your face." " Yes." " It would be la^t year about this tim3, wasn't it, sir ? " "No." "No?" and in despair ths lanllord retired to another part of the bar. "So you remember me, do you ?" muttered the man to himself. "I fancy some one else will remember me better, though, and be much less pleased to see me. Never mind, Jim, my boy ; with luck it will be the last journey you'll take down here, aud if there's no luck, well, somebody will have to suffer, and it won't be you, Jim. There'll be a little excite ment in this beastly hole, that's all. Fishing, is it ? Good ! They must be golden fish, and plenty of them this time," and with a sardonic smile, he got up to look out of the window at the weather. As he did so another man entered the bar.

" A nice day, landlord, this ! " " Yes, sir. Hope it's finished, sir ; bad for to-morrow if it rains." The landlord was quite fussy at having some one to talk to. " To-morrow ! AVhy to-morrow, particularly ? " " The fete up at the Court, sir. Everybody has been looking forward to it for weeks past. Y'ou don't know AVest leigh, or you would know what a great day it was for us." " Ah ! I forgot. I haven't bsen in AVestleigh for— let me see— six or seven years." " Indeed, sir ! It doesn't change much, even in that time. I ought to know your name, sir : I know your face well enough." " It seems my face hasn't altered in that time, either. I am Keuaeth Rivington, Mr. Hudson's nephew, you know." " Of course ! " exclaimed the landlord. " Have you been away seven years ? " " Yes, and I haven't seen the old man since I left.

I'm on my way there no.v. Ho.v is he looking? Have you seen him lately ? " "Yesterday. Looks younger than ever, sir." As Kenneth Rivington mentioned his name, the man standing at the w'nio.v turned to look at him. The object of his interest was a fine, handsome young fellow of five ani twenty, broad-shouldered, deep chested, and graceful. His fair hair and moustache looked even fairer than they really were, compared to his face, which was ruddy from exposure to the sun. That his face would get red instead of brown often displeased Kenneth immensely ; but then he consoled him elf by saying that it was one of the penalties of being a fair man. " You don't find the village changed, eh ! " said the man, leaving the window and coming to the bar. The landloid looked angry at the interruption ; there was nothing he loved so well as a gossip.

Rivington turned towards the speaker, and looked him over from head to foot. " No." " Dead holes like this don't change." "I never found it a dead hole yet," Rivington answered shortly. " Family ties make a difference, of course ; but it's a hole for all that, to my idea." Rivington did not answer, and turned away from the speaker to end the conversation. B " Going up to the Vicarage, sir ? " asked the landlord, unable to°conceal his delight at his untalkative customer's repulse. " Yes ; good afternoon," and he went out. "So that's Kenneth Rivington, is it?" said the man, taking his hat off and smoothing his hair. " I am glad 1 have seen him." " Do you know him ? " queried the landlord. "I know of him Inclined to be upish, eh, landlord! Didn't seem to like my calling this place a hole. AVell, I fancy I could make him a little more civil if I liked to try."

The landlord paused in his labour of drying a tankard, and looked at the speaker. " But I'm not going to try, my friend — at least, not yet. I'll see how the fishing gets on first." " John ! " called a voice, from the inner premises. " AVhat is it ? " answered the landlord. " Is the gentleman ready for his dinner ? " " The gentleman is," returned Mr. Tyrrell. " In the coffee room, landlord, eh ? " "Yes, sir." " I wonder who he is ? " said the landlord to himself, when the man had gone. " I'll swear I know his face, but his name— James Tyrrell— no, I never heard that name before." Meanwhile, Kenneth Rivington walked slowly through the village towards the Vicarage. Any one who delights in old country places would have been charmed with AVestleigh. It was unique ; one of those villages which Time seems to have been too busy to touch with his nineteenth-century notions and improvements.

A broad level road ran up from the inn which stood at ono end, to the great iron gates which were the entrance to AVestleigh Court, which stood at the other. On either side of the road was a green sward, and then the cottages separated from the grass by a narrow footpath. The houses were all built in the same style, except one to be mentioned presently, and were almost entirely covered with ivy. Ivy was every where. It clambered up the stone pillars of the Court gates, and twined round the rampant lions at the top. It made the lodge look like a ball of green. It fell over the cottage windows, and ran up to the topmost chimney. It embraced the " Green Man and Cow " from top to bottom ; and the clock in the old church tower could hardly be seen for it. The church stood about half-way up the village, in a large churchyard, which seemed nearly full.

It was quite easy to realise the communion of saints in AVestleigh Church, for there were few who assembled there to worship, who had not some dear one lying in his last resting-place without. Behind the church was the Vicarage, and in one corner of the churchyard was a little cottage, the only one which was out of keeping with the rest of the village. It had a door opening on to the street, but this was seldom used, as the sexton who lived there always went out the back way, into the churchyard, or his garden, as he called it. The ivy covered it only sparsely, and much of its whitewashed walls was seen. Had the windows and door been hidden, it would have looked more like a huge tomb than anything else. " The dear old place hasn't changed," said Rivington to himself as he walked up the street.

" A few new faces amongst the children, and a few missing amongst the old ones, that is all." And with thoughts a little sad, perhaps, but very peaceful, he walked through the churchyard to the Vicarage. There was a grim smile of satisfaction on James Tyrrell's face as he sat alone in the coffee-room over his dinner. His sharp eyes and big thin nose gave him somewhat the appearance of a bird of prey, and he ate his food quickly and greedily, which added to the likeness. Having finished, he lit a cigar, and leaned back in his chair. "Tomorrow night must settle it," he said to himself. " I am stronger now than I was three years ago. Every link in the chain is complete. I wonder how much it will be safe to ask ? " Presently, he put on his hat and went out The landlord was standing in the doorway.

" It will be fine to morrow, sir," he said. " Yes. Let me see — that road goes to the station, doesn't it ? And the others which fork off at the Court gates — where do they go to ? " " The one to the right goes to Basingford ; tlie one to the left goes round to the front entrance of the Vicarage, and to the Grange." '• Thanks. I m going for a walk." Mr. Tyrrell's walk was not a long one, for he turned into the churchyard, and began examining some of the tombstones. " It will be a long job to look at every one," he thought, surveying the churchyard to right and left. " I think I'd better get hold of that sexton fellow. He's old enough to have had time to examine the lot." He made his way towards the cottage in the corner. It has been said that the cottage, when seen from the village street, looked more like a huge tomb than anything else, but besides its appearance it had another claim to this distinction, if one may so call it.

The pathway which led to it through the churchyard was paved with old tombstones, and even within the little hedge which separated it from the graveyard there were two stones standing, one an upright slab from which the weather had nearly obliterated the names of those it commemorated, and the other a flat vault. They looked as if they had strayed beyond the hedge by mistake, but they were useful to the sexton. On the first he hung anything he had to dry, and on the other he sat in the evening sometimes, or used it to stand his pots and pans on. But the likeness to a tomb did not end even here. The hearthstone in the kitchen was an old gravestone, and the floor was paved with gravestones. As you sat there, you could trace in places a name, or a date, or part of an inscription. Certainly the place could not be healthy, yet old Simon Meddlethwaite seemed to flourish.

The very fact of his doing so made him respected in the village, for none could remember the time when old Simon was not the sexton of AVestleigh church, and people had grown to look upon him as something not quite human. His age was unknown. He himself said he was a hundred, but then, he had said the same for the last ten years. That age was his maximum, and no one had ever induced him to go beyond it. He was sitting on the flat tombstone when Tyrrell came up, and his appearance gave some reason for the superstition of the villagers. He was an old man, bent nearly double. His mouth was almost toothless, and his nose and chin nearly met. They were constantly moving up and down, as if their one aim in life was to touch each other. On his chin a few white hairs grew, about a quarter of an inch long but his head was as bald as it was on the day he was born.

He was always dressed in black, and was somewhat deaf, although he could generally hear when he was not wanted to, and his eyes were strangely keen for so old a man. He had his back towards Tyrrell, and did not know any one was near him until Tyrrell touched him on the shoulder. Most people would have started, especially in such a place, but not old Simon Meddlethwaite. He had no nerves. Had the spirits of all the dead of AVestleigh risen from their graves, and paid him a visit, it is doubtful if he would have been surprised. He turned slowly round to his visitor. " A nice evening now." "Eh?" "A nice evening." "I don't think there's any more room. It's full. Look at it," and he waved his hand towards the graveyard. " AVho's dead ? Who do you want to bury ? " "Old fool ! " muttered Tyrrell ; and then he added in a loud voice, " Nobody's dead.

I said it was a fine evening." The old man's chin and nose worked more furiously than ever. " I know that ; you needn't have come to me to tell me that." " I didn't. I came to ask you a question." " I don't know anything. AVhat do you want ? " mumbled the old man. '• I want you to show me old Squire Dunthorpe's grave." "Squire Dunthorpe ; he ain't dead." " Not the one up at the Court now. I mean the old man, the one w7ho was Squire before the present one." " What do you want to see it for ? " Tyrrell looked at the sexton, and muttered au oath ; then went on in a loud voice : " Nothing particular I am interested in the family, that's aU ; and I want to read what's on the stone." " I can tell you what's on it, but if you want to see the stone, that's him there;" and he pointed to the uprighi slab before mentioned.

Tyrrell went towards it. "Yrou won't be able to read it. The stone's been there ever since I can remember, and that's a hundred years. The names is well-nigh washed out," and old Simon began to recite in a mumbling tone the inscriptions to Dunthorpes long dead. This interested Tyrrell little, but the end of the narrative which had been cut in the stone in later years was of more moment to him. cS.icrri to THE MEMORY OF JOHN DUN THORPE, Sometime Squire of this parish, who was born April 3rd, 1751, and died June 10th, 1822. Also of Anne his wife, who died May 5th. 1.S23. Also of John his only son, who died young. He had issue besides : Gertrude, b. 1776 And Anne, born 1789, who married, in 1815, Edward Dunthorpe, only son of Richard Dunthorpe of Slough. "The present Squire is their son," old Simon said, in ■conclusion.

" Wkat became of Gertrude ? " The sexton's nose and chin worked up and down very liard, and he shook his head for some time before answering. " They say she died at sea." ' Well, don't you believe it ? " " I never believe a person's dead until I've buried him." Tyrrell grinned ; his face was not made to smile. " I know he's dead, then," continued the old man. " I only made a mistake once. That was the time they fished a dead man out of the river, just up by the pool. Everybody knew him : it was Joe Small, who used to have the mill, so we buried him ; and about a year afterwards, as I was a-;oming through the yard, seeing as how every one was quiet and happy, I sees Joe Small a-walking along the path to meet me" " Did you run ? " "Eh?" "Did you run away ? " " Me— run away from Joe Small ! AVhy, man, I'd known liim for twenty years.

I only wondered what he was a-walking about for after we had comfortably buried him. And it turned out that Small had been away for a year, and it wasn't Joe Small we had buried at all, but some other dead 'un. AVe've got Small all right now, though. He's just over the other side of the hedge there." This little story took the old man some time to tell, because he had to pause between every two or three words to give his nose and chin a chance of meeting, but a good deal of humour twinkled in the sexton's eyes as he narrated it, and the fact of having secured Joe Small at last gave him evident satisfaction, for he chuckled to himself as he con cluded. "So you think this Gertrude may not be dead," said Tyrrell. " Eh ? " Tyrrell repeated the question. " Dead ! I don't know. She'll be getting on now if she's living.

All I know is, I ain't buried her. Ah, Minta ! " The last remark was addressed to a child who had approached the old man without being seen, and put her hand on his shoulder. Old Simon rose from his seat as he spoke, aud went into the cottage with the girl, taking no notice of Tyrrell, who remained standing by the Dunthorpe tomb. " I wonder if he's only an old fool or a knave," he mut tered, as they disappeared. " He's old enough to be either or both." Tyrrell relit his cigar, which had gone out, and left the churchyard with a satisfied grin upon his face. He looked towards the Vicarage, the lights of which could be seen through the trees ; and he looked towards the great iron gates of the Court, buried in gloom now ; and he looked at the sky, which was clear and starlit. "Jim, my boy, all goes well," he said to himself. "It will be a fine day to-morrow for tlie site — and for you."

Chapter II. The Vicar And His Sister

No work was done in the Vicar's study that night. The half -finished sermon was pushed aside and the books closed, for the Reverend John Hudson wanted to talk to his nephew, and listen to all his adventures. " So, my boy, we've got you back at last, and glad I am to have you." " Thank you, uncle." A momentary shade passed over the Vicar's face, but it was gone in an instant, and he went on, lightly : ' I am an old bachelor, you know, Ken, so never had any THE VICAR AND HIS SISTER. 11 children of my own to love. I used almost to regret it some times, but not now. I have you, and I'm proud of yon." "I'm afraid you are easily satisfied, then," Kenneth returned. The Vicar bent forward, patted his nephew on the shoulder, and murmured, " Bless you, old dear ! " It was a favourite expression of his.

The Reverend John Hudson was of the old school, in his looks, in his ways, in his religion. He was under medium height, and somewhat portly ; yet he was dignified in appear ance. His hair, which was nearly white, was cut short, and in front stood almost on end ; his beard was long and thick, and was always stroked methodically when the Vicar was in thought. His was a handsome face and kindly. He always walked with a firm step, and swung his arms in time. He was the Vicar, and there was not a man, woman or child in Westleigh who would have dared to contradict him, or insult him, even had they wished to, which they certainly did not. For John Hudson was a great favourite with every one, from the Squire downwards. He was passionately fond of his flock, and loved his few acres of farm land. In an old coat, an old wide brimmed straw hat, and great thick-soled boots -he took an especial pride in his boots, and strangers at the Vicarage were always shown his large collection, which embraced pairs of all descriptions —he went amongst his men in harvest time, and was one with them.

The Squire once called his attention to the age of the clothes he was wearing, and the Vicar's reply was characteristic. "AVhat does it matter?" he said. " Here, everybody knows who I am, whatever coat I wear, and if I go to town nobody knows me ; what does it matter ?" — and then he patted the Squire on the back, and said, " Bless you, old dear ! " He drank little, smoked less, never having more than one small cigarette after dinner. He was up every morning with the lark, and unless anything special was doing, began to think about bed directly dinner was cleared away. He was a broad Churchman, had a kindly feeling for Roman Catholics and Dissenters alike, arguing that heaven was large enough to hold every one, and God's mercy as much without limit as His everlasting years. He was a clever man, and an observant man.

His sermons teemed with original thoughts and beautiful language, and altogether the inhabitants of AVestleigh considered themselves justified in being proud of their parson. To one person only did the A^icar give way and allow her opinion before his own. This exception was his sister Kate, an old maid every inch of her, with a straightforward way of doing and saying things, highly commendable, no doubt, but not always politic. The servants were afraid of her, so were the men on the farm ; it is not quite certain the Vicar was not a little afraid of her, too. She was very like her brother in build and ways, but had not so much of the milk of human kindness in her nature. It was difficult to get into the good graces of Kate Hudson, but once in, it would require a very strong reason to get you out again.

If Miss Hudson treated any one with extreme politeness, it was a sure sign that she did not like him ; but if, on the other hand, she peremptorily ordered him to come aud look at the pigs, his position was assured : Miss Hudson had stamped the mark of her approval upon him. At this time Miss Hudson was about fifty. She did not look it, but she was, and did not mind who knew it. She had taken care of her brother's house ever since he had been at AVestleigh, and it can well be imagined what the Vicarage was like in the hands of such a woman. Everything was for use and comfort ; everything was set precisely in its place ; and the idea of making a corner artistic with pretty furniture and ornaments never entered her head. She did a little parish work, but not much, and seldom accompanied her brother out to dinner.

She often said that she didn't go inside the Court gates from one year's end to another ; not because she was not asked, but simply because she preferred to stay at home. THE VICAR AND HIS SISTER. 13 The Vicarage had been Kenneth Rivington's home since the time he was seven, aud he had a very hazy idea of what happened before that. The Vicar and his sister had brought him up, and their love had entirely supplied the place of parental affection. The Vicar had often patted him on the back, and said, " Bless you ! " and he had been with Kate to see the pigs nearly every morning of his life. For the last few years he had been abroad, travelling to complete his education; and now that he had returned again, a manly, good-looking fellow, it was no wonder that the sermon was pushed aside and the books closed for the night in the library.

" I am glad to see you back, Ken," said Mr. Hudson. "You cannot know how we have missed you about the place. Do you remember the afternoon you and I quarrelled, because I found you smoking on the hay-rick ? " " I do, well," Kenneth answered. " I can assure you I would have let you smoke there all day, sometimes, if I could have had you back," said the Vicar " I've looked at that rick, or at least one like it, many a time, and thought about you. You would have been a perfect treasure to me, last winter, when I had the gout." " How ? " " AVhy, I could have quarrelled with you, and eased the pain. Ay, it was bad, Ken. Had I been a layman, I think I shor.'vl have used bad language often." "You did not say much about it in your letters," Kenneth said. " Didn't I ? I expect I must have felt better on those days, then.

Oh, everybody about the house knew I had got it, I can tell you. I had to get one of the curates over from Basingford to preach for me, one Sunday; and old Simon Meddlethwaite looked at me for a few days as if he saw a job in the near future. Old Simon is still living." " Is he, really ? I shall find most of my friends a good deal changed." " You will. The Squire doesn't look any older, but Cicely has grown into a young woman, and a very pretty one, too, 1 can tell you." " Has anything been heard of Richard Dunthorpe ? " "No, I think not. A sad business that, Kenneth. I think the Squire was wrong, you know. Richard was a wild fellow, certainly, but I don't believe he was a downright bad lot as the Squire makes out." Just then Kate entered the room, and of course— like a woman — wanted to know what they had been talking about.